


Drowning

by Maia_Nebula



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, And they all agree that Coach Lahey should shove his whistle up his, Angst, Death, Derek and Cora are the same age as the rest of the teens, Drowning, F/M, Heavy Angst, I mean it, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Rating upped to 'M' because the story is going to get dark, They're all in swimming class together, earthquake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24297658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maia_Nebula/pseuds/Maia_Nebula
Summary: “He’s staring at you.”Derek clenched his jaw – he wouldn’t give Isaac the satisfaction of a reply.“Again,” Isaac insisted, a smile evident in his stupid voice.“It’s not ‘again’ if he hasn’t stopped doing it,” Erica countered. Derek kept his eyes fixed on the other end of the pool, wondering if he could drown either of them before Coach Lahey intervened.No, probably not. He could try, though.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall - Relationship, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 15
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fic, people! I'm so excited!  
> The fic starts a bit slow and then speeds up, so buckle up! Also, please prepare yourself for a gratuitous use of "–" and Derek cursing. Sorry if that's annoying XD  
> Enjoy!

“He’s staring at you.”

Derek clenched his jaw – he wouldn’t give Isaac the satisfaction of a reply.  
“ _Again_ ,” Isaac insisted, a smile evident in his stupid voice.  
“It’s not ‘again’ if he hasn’t stopped doing it,” Erica countered. Derek kept his eyes fixed on the other end of the pool, wondering if he could drown either of them before Coach Lahey intervened.

No, probably not. He could try, though. He just had to–

An ear-piercing sound interrupted his thoughts and he winced, but he still took some perverse pleasure in how Isaac and Erica jolted next to him. Served them right.  
“Come on,” Boyd said softly as he stood from the bleachers and helped Erica up, “leave him alone.”

 _That_ was why Boyd was his favorite.  
“He gets flustered enough with Stiles as it is. No need to make it worse.”

Fucking idiot. Derek glared at him, but Boyd shrugged and gave him a small smile before walking up to the edge of the water. Derek resisted the urge to flip him off.

After all, it wasn’t his fault that he became agitated around Stiles: the kid always reeked of anxiousness around him, though he made sure to avoid him as much as possible. Sharing as many classes as they did made their interactions inevitable, but it didn’t really do much for his self-esteem to have the scrawny teen fidget in alarm every time he moved.  
“What’s with the scowling?”

Derek rolled his eyes and tried to ease his expression. Judging by how Cora leaned closer, he was unsuccessful.  
“Is it–”  
“Stiles.” Isaac replied, as if it was enough of an explanation.

It probably was. Cora settled a wet arm across Derek’s back and laid her chin on his shoulder.  
“Are you _brooding_?”

Derek shook her off and looked at her angrily. She laughed.  
“Stop it.”

She tried to pinch his cheek, but he smacked her hand away.  
“Don’t pout,” she teased. “It plumps out your lips.”

Oh, he was going to _murder_ –

The shrill whistle went off suddenly, and Derek jumped to his feet, the sound grating inside his head. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked down from the bleachers to the pool deck and made his way to the third lane. Isaac followed, keeping to his left.

And then McCall appeared at his right. _Fuck.  
_“Hey, man.”

Derek grunted, but didn’t look at him. That didn’t seem to have the intended effect.  
“Look…” McCall took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I need to talk to you. I’ve been–”

Coach Lahey blew his whistle again.  
“You done?” He asked angrily. Clenching his hands, Derek nodded. “Then get in the water! We don’t have all day.”

Derek nodded once more and jumped in, surfacing to hold onto the edge of the pool. The splash next to him meant that McCall had jumped in, too.  
“3…” Coach counted down, “2…1…”

And, at the whistle, they were off. Unsurprisingly, out of the eight teens in the water, Isaac and Derek made it back first, McCall trailing a little behind. Still, Coach Lahey wasn’t pleased – he almost pulled Isaac out of the water, and Derek had to stop himself from wolfing out right then and there and taking him on. Isaac’s warning glance didn’t help much, but then McCall was holding onto Derek’s wrist and–

 _That_ was new. Since when did McCall have claws?

Derek looked down at McCall’s hand confirming that, yeah, those weren’t regular old fingernails, before looking up at his face.  
“You’re–” Derek didn’t– “Your eyes.”

That seemed to surprise McCall, and Derek felt the kid’s claws retracting as he blinked the gold out of his gaze.  
“What?” He breathed. McCall shook his head and suddenly looked scared.  
“Derek, you can’t–”

The whistle was too close this time, the sound deafening to his sensitive ears, and he couldn’t avoid flinching and turning towards the drawn-out noise in anger. Coach Lahey pulled the whistle from his lips with a sneer.  
“Are you going to stand there babbling for the next twenty minutes, or are you going step aside?”

Biting his tongue, Derek sidetracked him as he headed back to the bleachers. He swallowed his ire as he stepped away from the man. Seriously, if Coach Lahey wasn’t the only parent Isaac had left, he’d–  
“Derek.”

For. _Fuck’s._ SAKE.  
“WHAT?”

McCall took a step back, fearful once more. What _was it_ with this kid?  
“What do you want?” Derek grit out. He could feel his classmates’ eyes on him, but then the whistle went off again and that seemed to distract everyone. It also seemed to embolden McCall, who moved closer.  
“I know what you are,” the teen said in a whisper. “You and–” He looked at the bleachers behind Derek, where Isaac, Cora, Boyd, and Erica were sitting, before looking back at him. “And them. I can smell it.”

Derek’s eyes widened. Was McCall–  
“We need to talk,” McCall repeated. “There’s something wrong. I can feel it.”  
“What do you mean?”

The words barely made it out of his lips. Why was he breathless? He could feel his friends shifting, he knew they were listening in, he should at least make sure they didn’t have to strain to hear him… But his heart was beating too loudly in his chest, and suddenly everything was slotting into place: that was why Stiles was afraid of him, that’s why–  
“Who else knows?” It was McCall’s turn to be confused. Derek felt his metaphorical hackles rising. “Who’ve you told?”  
“Dude, _chill_. It’s not like–”

Derek closed his hand around McCall’s bicep forcefully.  
“You’re gonna make a scene,” McCall warned calmly, but his heartbeat was all over the place. Derek let out a breath and let him go. The shape of his fingers soon disappeared from the kid’s arm. “Thanks.”

Derek glowered at him before walking off to the bleachers. McCall wouldn’t give up though, because he followed him.  
“Listen–”  
“Fuck off.”   
“Hey!”

But Derek plopped down next to Cora, toweling his hair and pointedly ignoring him.

He had to give it to McCall, though – the kid was persistent.  
“Look, something’s wrong. I know it, you know it, it’s got us all on edge,” the kid asserted. “Everything’s been off since this morning, hasn’t it?”

Derek balled up his towel and looked at it intently. He had been more annoyed than usual… _Murderous_ , even.

He frowned but nodded slowly. McCall seemed to take it as a win, as he now smelled more like happiness than unease. Derek rolled his eyes and met his gaze.

The whistle went off in the background.  
“What are you going to do about it?” McCall seemed stumped, so Derek elaborated. “What do you think _we_ are going to do about it, for that matter?”  
“What?”  
“That’s the reason you’re telling me–us, right? So we can fix it?”

McCall shook his head, his brow furrowing, but then the sound of the whistle was muted and–

They were moving–

They were swaying–

Someone gasped next to him, and he could feel Cora’s hand clenching the seat next to his thigh, and–  
“EARTHQUAKE!”

All hell broke loose as students scrambled out of the stands, the bleachers they were on jerking this way and that, unseating them roughly. But Derek’s eyes weren’t on the surface under and around him. No, they were on the water, which sploshed roughly out on every side with the worsening jarring, and on the waves that were overpowering the teens that were still in the pool, pulling them back in.

He was back on the pool deck before he knew what he was doing. Coach Lahey was yelling at six teens to get out of the water, and some of his classmates were trying to help them out, but Stiles–

Stiles was in the fourth lane, hanging onto the lane divider right in the middle of the pool, desperately trying to keep himself above the water–

And failing.

_Damn it!_

The kid had always been so fucking _slow_! How could he fuck up _swimming_?

And Derek knew, he _knew_ that an average earthquake lasted between 10 and 30 seconds, but there had been one 10 minutes long once and all he could see was the terror in Stiles’ face and–

Coach Lahey was pushing him away, was shoving him in the general direction of the doors–

The man was yelling at all of them to get out and the walls were creaking, and Jared was finally, _finally,_ out of the water, and Stiles–

_Stiles was the only one still in it._

And the ground was _roaring_ , and the shaking wasn’t stopping, and the whole building seemed to be shifting off its foundation–

And then the Coach’s hands were off of Derek’s chest as he turned back to the pool, but Derek was faster–

He jumped in as the roof started collapsing–

He’d never swam more desperately in his life.

But the water kept sloshing him this way and that, and it was harder than that time when he’d gone white water rafting with his family and Laura had fallen out of the raft and he’d dived in to save her. Like she’d needed it.

Like she wasn’t a werewolf that would have no trouble getting out of the turbulent waters.

But Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, and he couldn’t get out.

Derek surfaced to take a breath, dust and yelling and concrete falling all around him. Stiles was no longer visible. A girl was screaming.

_SHIT._

Derek dove again and moved further forward, avoiding the pieces of roof that pelted the water. A couple of strokes later, he found Stiles.

Stiles was slowly sinking, eyes closed, legs and arms extended towards the surface as his body rocked with the water’s movement. _Was he dead?_

Terrified, Derek extended an arm towards him, kicking with all his might to propel himself forward so he could cover the little distance that was left between them–

Pain blossomed on the back of his head for a moment, before everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then it all came rushing back in–  
>   
>  _STILES! Where was Stiles?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, English is not my first language, and I'm a fan of commas, italics and "–". I'm so sorry, lol.  
> Also, would you please kindly advise if you think the rating and tags for this story are fine, or if anything's missing?  
> Thank you!

Floating, he was floating.  
“Got him?” The voice was urgent. “GOT HIM?” It insisted.  
“Yeah, yeah, go!”

Go? Where was he supposed to go?

Derek groaned, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes when he dazedly blinked them open. What was happening?

 _And where was the ceiling?_ Half of it was missing – that didn’t make sense…

Derek shook his head weakly, his ears ringing, barely aware of how his back scraped against the edge of the pool as strong arms hoisted him out of it. He tried to help, but his legs weren’t cooperating and all he was able to do was to turn sideways.

And then it all came rushing back in–

_STILES! Where was Stiles?_

Derek moved so suddenly that bile rose up his throat, but he couldn’t see anything – _anyone_ – in the water from where he was sitting. _Was Stiles still sinking?  
_ “COME ON, YOU SHIT!”

No.

Oh, God, _no_.

Coach Lahey’s words were rough but his voice was desperate, and Derek knew that there would be only one reason for that – his howls had been the same two years ago.

And he didn’t know how he managed to stand up or when he moved away from Boyd and Whittemore and closer to McCall. And he didn’t know how much time had passed, or how long the Coach had been moving rhythmically on top of the kid, or how long he’d been breathing for the scrawny teen as Isaac kneeled next to Stiles’ head, patting his hair, touching his face–

_Stiles’ bluish-tinged face._

Oh, God.

And he could hear Allison and Cora crying, and he could see Malia to his right, her fist closed around her cellphone, its screen cracking–

And he could hear Lydia–

_He could hear Lydia wailing._

Oh, God, oh, God, _no_ –

And McCall–

McCall was pulling his hair in desperation, sinking to his knees, shaking violently but unable to tear his eyes from the sight before him.

And Derek? Derek couldn’t stop staring either, he couldn’t stop gawking at the foam that trickled down Stiles cheeks, or at Coach Lahey’s red face and bloodshot eyes, or at–  
“Save him.”

Erica’s eyes were wild.  
“Save him. Please, _save him_ ,” she begged, but he wasn’t an Alpha, and he didn’t know any Alpha but Laura, and Laura’d been killed three months ago. And he would have told her so, except that he knew that she knew that he couldn’t do anything. _He couldn’t do anything to save Stiles,_ and no one else could either, because the Bite wouldn’t bring back the dead.

But then Kira was gripping his arm painfully and he was thankful for the distraction because it kept him from breaking down. And it had been a whisper, but it was as good as a yell, and the werewolves all turned to her – all but McCall.  
“I think I can save him,” she repeated, and he nodded, because he’d do anything to help.  
“What do you need?”  
“Get the Coach out of here,” she said, and let him go. Derek nodded again, but Isaac struck his dad’s jaw with his fist, knocking the Coach out cold.

Derek stared.

Kira stepped forward before falling on all fours next to Stiles, her hands on his chest. Isaac moved his dad out of the way to give her more space and McCall–

McCall was pulling her off of Stiles.

_WHAT?_

McCall was growling, showing his fangs and extending his claws, and Derek felt the urge to strangle him, but he understood. He understood because he’d wanted to do the same with the ashes of every one of his family members that had burned.

So he crouched and stretched the palms of his hands out towards McCall, trying to seem as unthreatening at possible – there was no reason for McCall to know that Derek would take him out if he got in the way again.  
“Come on. Let her,” he said, and McCall looked at him, eyes gold. “Let her help.”  
“She can’t touch him.”  
“Hey, it’s ok, we get it,” Isaac said, wiping his tears. “You don’t trust her, right?” McCall snarled. “But I got him. I pulled him out, didn’t I? Do you trust that I want to help him?”

McCall looked conflicted, but his fangs and claws were receding. Isaac nodded encouragingly.  
“I think she wants to help him, too. Dad couldn’t, but she can. Will you let her?”

Distraught, McCall shook his head.  
“It’s late… It’s too late.”  
“No, no, no,” Kira countered. “Haven’t you noticed that Lydia’s stopped keening?”

And, yeah, she had, but Derek didn’t have the heart to tell them that that might be just because it was no longer _Stiles_ that lay before them, but the _remains_ of a teen who had drowned.

_Oh, God._

Still, that seemed to be enough to convince McCall and he moved, allowing Kira to take her previous position on the floor. Placing her hand on Stiles’ chest, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Somewhat foolishly, Derek crossed his fingers, chanting three words in his head over and over again.

In a moment the sky darkened, though it still wasn’t noon, and the hairs on his arms rose. _What was she doing?_ Her lips were moving, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying, and the air was suddenly charged, almost crackling with–

Understanding dawned on him, and dread pooled in his chest: _she was a Kitsune._ Kira was a Thunder Kitsune and _Kitsunes were tricksters!_  
“No!”

He had to stop her, he had to stop her before–

There was a flash of light and for a moment, he couldn’t see anything, completely frozen in place. He knew what it had been, though: it’d been a lightning strike.

And Derek was rooted to the spot until his vision cleared, his eyes immediately focusing on Stiles. On Stiles, who hadn’t _even moved_.

And they all held their breath, and Derek’s mind kept repeating those three words: _let him live, let him live, let him live–_

But Stiles wasn’t breathing.

_Stiles was dead._

McCall roared in anguish and Derek could feel himself crumbling because he was barely 18 and he’d seen enough deaths already. And even Whittemore was sobbing and Derek was kneeling and the ground was shifting–

It was shaking again.

‘Aftershock,’ his brain supplied automatically. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, though the water was sloshing again, and the bleachers were moving, and the ceiling was falling. He didn’t care.

And he doubted he’d care about anything ever again.

So he just stayed there, staring at the grey figure before them, his mind blank but his heart still beating _‘let him live’_.  
“I – I thought I could do it,” Kira breathed, her scent inconsolable. Derek knew there was no consolation in the world for something like this – for failing to save a person, even though you’d tried. “I – I really – I really thought–”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to tune her out, but she kept mumbling and it took all his self-control to not shut her up himself. And then Lydia’s white shins were passing him, and she was sitting on her haunches next to Stiles. McCall didn’t even try to stop her, and that, somehow, made everything worse.

And Lydia was gently lifting Kira’s hands and placing them back on the pool deck, before tracing the Lichtenberg figure on Stiles’ chest with one nude-colored fingernail. The red lines of the fern-like pattern that had bloomed where the lightning had struck, stood out among the moles on Stiles’ porcelain skin.

_He was so pale…_

And the ground stopped shuddering, though it didn’t seem like Derek could, and everything was quiet again, except for all the weeping. He could hear the rest of the students and school staff milling about outside, apparently ignorant of what had happened in here. Coach Lahey was still out cold.

‘We should check if he’s ok,’ he thought about saying, but he didn’t particularly care. And Isaac, who was _his son_ , didn’t seem to mind either, as he gazed unblinkingly at the figure laid before him.

“We have signal again,” Boyd said after a while. Derek didn’t know what he was expected to do with that information. Boyd seem to get that. “We should call his dad.”

Oh, God, _his dad_.

His dad, who was now alone, as Stiles’ mother had died a couple of years ago. The man had no one left – _no one_. What would he do when–

Derek knew what he’d wanted to do when he’d lost everyone. If it hadn’t been for Cora, and Laura, and even hospitalized, comatose Peter, he’d have done it.

How would Derek even break it to him? How would he tell the Sheriff that his son, _his only son_ –  
“I’ll do it,” McCall said, sounding devastated.

But Lydia, still tracing the figure on Stiles’ chest, shushed him.

And Stiles opened his eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek set his eyes back on Stiles. It had been too close a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep adding characters - lol, sorry! Also, this chapter peeks a bit at their backstories.  
> Enjoy!

Derek clenched his fists as the revolting sounds of Stiles vomiting half his weight in water filled the air. He wouldn’t lie, though: his disgust was far outweighed by his relief. Seeing Stiles trembling as fat teardrops ran down his face, his cheeks splotchy and his neck flushed crimson, McCall’s hands the only thing keeping him from faceplanting on the pool deck – there was no view in the world better than this. None.

But his opinion didn’t seem to be shared by everyone, as Malia’s scrunched nose showed. And, yeah, the mixed smell of chlorinated water and bile was nauseating, but did it matter? This was better than–

Derek set his eyes back on Stiles. It had been too close a call.  
“We should really call his dad,” Boyd insisted. He was right of course, but Derek didn’t have the Sheriff’s phone number.  
“Don’t worry,” Allison replied, pressing her phone against her ear. “I’m already on it.”

Derek stared at her for a moment: he’d forgotten–

Cora took his hand and he swallowed. This wasn’t the time for bitterness and spite. After all, a life had been saved today, and Allison? Allison wasn’t Kate.  
“Sheriff?” The girl said, meeting Derek’s gaze, but there was movement to his side and he was turning away from her, thankful for it because it’d have become real awkward real soon. He focused on Coach Lahey instead, who was groaning on the floor as he tried to sit up. Isaac put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“Stay down.”  
“What–” The man was quiet for a moment as he took in his surroundings, his eyes moving from the ruined ceiling to Stiles, who was now breathing heavily with his face in his hands, and then to his son’s curly hair. “Did you knock me out?”

Isaac shook his head.  
“No,” he countered easily, pointing at Stiles over his shoulder. “You _fainted_ in the middle of giving him CPR.”

The Coach looked back at Stiles, horrified, and something twisted in Derek’s stomach because, although the man might be a verbally abusive asshole, Isaac was being a douchebag and it just wasn’t right. Stiles was _alive_ and, while Coach Lahey ultimately hadn’t saved him, _at least he had tried_.  
“We managed.”

Well, Derek never did say he was articulate. His words seemed to be enough to soothe the Coach, though, because the man just nodded before throwing an arm over his eyes and letting out a deep breath. The way his heart stuttered made Derek think he was crying.

Isaac sat back, his mood apparently soured. Derek didn’t blame him: Coach Lahey’s idea of parenting was threatening his son with locking him in their basement’s freezer, like that could help Isaac with his AP History grades. Seeing him care about the wellbeing of someone else? That had to hurt.

And Stiles was apparently hurting, if the black lines on McCall’s arms were anything to go by.

But then Kira was bumping into McCall, nodding towards the Coach before shaking her head. McCall frowned.  
“He’s not even looking,” he muttered, but pulled his hands back all the same. She beamed, leaning forward, and–

Wait, wasn’t McCall with Allison? Why was Kira pecking his lips then?

And why did he care about McCall’s love life? He didn’t even call the kid by his first name!

Then again, anything Argent-related put him on edge. He told himself that it wasn’t paranoia, it just made sense. Look at what had happened when he’d trusted – no, when he’d _fallen_ for–

The enemy. No matter how hackneyed it sounded, that’s what he’d done: he’d loved the enemy long and hard enough for it to have catastrophic consequences, and Allison–

Allison was a hunter, just like Kate. And cool aunt Kate _and_ sweet old grandpa Gerard didn’t adhere to The Code. Did the rest of the Argents? Because then having a werewolf boyfriend might have been hard to explain.

Maybe McCall wasn’t a werewolf when they started dating, and they’d broken up when McCall received the Bite? They gotten together almost a year ago, but Derek didn't know when they’d stopped being a ‘thing’, so how long had McCall been shifting? And how could Derek _not have known_? That was a stupid oversight: without Laura, they were five Alpha-less Betas, one step away from becoming Omegas–

And, if it came to that, he’d _make_ the others submit to McCall’s pack because he would _not_ let them die, not while he lived.  
“You ok?” Stiles didn’t lift his head but nodded. McCall smiled crookedly at him. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Stiles nodded again and McCall stood up, carefully pulling Stiles up with him before putting his arm around the shaky teen’s waist.  
“Need help?” Derek offered, stepping closer to them. McCall might have said ‘no’, but Derek didn’t really care – he held onto Stiles from the other side, placing Stiles’ arm across his shoulders. Stiles hummed in amusement, but didn’t say anything, and McCall rolled his eyes good-naturedly before starting to walk towards the exit.

Derek could hear Isaac helping his dad up behind them, and the others followed, walking around the cracks and debris on the floor–  
“Aftershock,” he remarked as Stiles froze next to him, squeezing his eyes shut, his breathing labored and his heartbeats too fast to be safe. “It’s just an aftershock.”

And it was just that, just an aftershock, thankfully weaker than the last, making them sway but not making them dizzy, but for Stiles it was evidently as bad as the earthquake that had trapped him in the pool. Violent shivers wracked his lanky body and he _exuded_ fear and Derek–

Derek didn’t know what possessed him, but he entwined his hand with the one Stiles had on his shoulder, and pressed it softly.  
“I’ve got you,” he said, hearing the others suddenly speak up around them, as if that would give them some privacy.

As if most of them weren’t werewolves with superhearing and good multitasking skills.  
“I’ve got you,” he repeated, running his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand without letting go, begging the tremors to stop. Amazingly, the earth tremors did.

_Stiles’ did not.  
_ “Come on, Stiles,” McCall said. “It’s over. You’re ok.”

But Stiles didn’t seem to be listening. Derek frowned and pulled him closer. McCall made a noise at that but didn’t stop him.  
“Stiles,” Derek commanded, “look at me.”

Stiles didn’t react and Derek moved to let go, so he could stand in front of the teen and maybe jostle him back to reality or something, but–

But Stiles was holding onto his hand as if it was his lifeline.

_What?_

Derek let out a breath, fighting not to scowl (his default facial expression at this point) in case Stiles opened his eyes, because he didn’t want him to think he was angry at him. Should he–

McCall cleared his throat.  
“It stopped shaking,” he said with a shrug.

Yeah, it had, _almost a minute ago, Captain Obvious_ , but Derek understood and sidled under Stiles’ arm again before they started moving. Stiles was still gripping his hand. 

The fresh air seemed to do the pale teen good: he opened his eyes, and his shudders slowly came to a stop, and his heart gradually settled down. The peace didn’t last long, though: Ms. Morrell was running towards them, calling their names, making Stiles tense up again.  
“He needs a doctor,” Coach Lahey said from behind them as she skidded to a halt, almost colliding with Derek. She furrowed her brows instead of replying, extending her hands towards Stiles and–

And McCall growled.

_What. The. Fuck?_ Had this kid been a werewolf for a day or what? Because, _a_ , McCall couldn’t more obviously have been a fucking werewolf, and, _b_ , this was a _fucking teacher_. She wasn’t going to hurt a kid in front of the rest of the school.  
“Scott,” Allison said, giving him a steely glare–

So she _did_ know that McCall was a werewolf–

And she apparently had certain control over him too, because, duly chastised, McCall’s eyebrows reappeared and his sideburns and fangs receded.

Ms. Morrell was still frowning, but she didn’t seem surprised. Did she know about werewolves? Did Coach Lahey? Isaac was one, after all, but Derek didn’t think that he’d told his dad: the man wouldn’t be such a dick to his son if he knew that Isaac could rip his arms out.

Jackson’s smarmy voice brought him out of his thoughts.  
“Is that an ambulance?” 

Derek doubted his curiosity, but he couldn’t fault Jackson for trying to defuse the tension. Ms. Morrell answered without taking her eyes off of Stiles.  
“It’s here for Mr. Harris and Greenburg. We’ll get the paramedics to check you all out, too.”  
“That won’t be necessary,” Lydia retorted.

Derek didn’t think Ms. Morrell was asking for her opinion, but that was a conversation that they could have without him.

Ms. Morrell didn’t seem like talking, though: she kept openly staring at Stiles’ chest.  
“That’s creepy,” Stiles joked, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she lifted a finger to trace the faint red lines. Derek had already memorized what they looked like, but, upon looking at them again, he found that they seemed to cover less of Stiles’ front now. Was the mark fading?  
“How did you get this?”

Stiles looked down wide-eyed, as if he hadn’t noticed the fern-like pattern before. Maybe he hadn’t: he hadn’t been conscious for long, and–

_Damn it!_ McCall was shifting again! Derek was going to _kill_ him.

But his pack, _his amazing pack_ , stepped in before anyone could murder anybody, moving forward and calling out to the paramedics to get their attention.

Ms. Morrell wasn’t distracted by that, looking intently into Stiles’ eyes.  
“Do you recognize what it is?” She asked in a whisper.

Still surprised, Stiles shook his head.  
“Take care of him first,” Coach Lahey yelled at the approaching EMTs, and his voice was loud, almost loud enough to drown out her words.

But it didn’t, and those six words filled Derek with dread.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek could barely breathe.
> 
> It didn’t seem to matter, though, because the world kept moving around him. And, with no one to distract him, dark thoughts swirled in his head–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of backstory. Hope you like it!

He’d been there twice –just twice– in his life, and that’d been enough. He thought it was understandable. After all, he’d never been more afraid than the first time that he’d been there. And the second time? The second time, he’d died inside.

He’d died a slow, painful death, marked by black blood, on a dark, cold night, with her pliant body nestled in his arms, and he hadn’t come back from that because–

Well, how could anyone recover when someone died?

Almost a year later, most of his family was attacked and his night terrors changed, but–

But he still remembered sweet, loving Paige.

And it hurt to think that his love for her had turned, in time, from an excruciating pain to a warm, steady ache. And it hurt even more that Ms. Morrell’s mention of the place still disturbed him, but for Stiles’ –and not Paige’s– sake.

The circumstances were different now. For one, Stiles hadn’t been bitten. Also, and not less importantly, Peter was comatose, and his mom was dead. Still, to think that a pale white, brown-haired teen with moles on their face was–

Derek could barely breathe.

It didn’t seem to matter, though, because the world kept moving around him. And, with no one to distract him, dark thoughts swirled in his head–

And wasn’t that ruthless? To have it inscribed in Stiles’ skin just like Paige’s death had seared the place into Derek’s heart? Because Ms. Morrell’s quiet words had been clear over the Coach’s yelling and the arrival of the EMTs.  
“They’re the roots of the Nemeton,” she’d said, pointing at the fern-like lines on Stiles’ chest.

And Stiles, as made obvious by his baffled expression, hadn’t understood what she’d said. But Derek understood, and one thing kept repeating itself in his head since then:  
“Stiles is as good as dead.”

Only Cora’s hand slipping into his stopped him from holding onto Stiles and not letting go, because Stiles had just been saved and Derek couldn’t lose anyone else and–

And it was like an out-of-body experience, watching Stiles walk away with the teachers and the paramedics, the Sheriff slamming the breaks and jumping out of his cruiser just as they reached the ambulance, the earth jerking again–

Cora squeezed his fingers for a moment, and he squeezed them back until the ground stopped shaking.

\---

Annoyingly, what was left of the Hale pack seemed to think that he shouldn’t be left alone. He doubted that anyone but his sister knew the significance of the magic tree, or of what had happened there three years ago, but Erica, Boyd and Isaac would not leave his side no matter what he did.

And, boy, had he tried.

They wouldn’t be dissuaded, though – Derek was going to be part of a puppy pile, whether he wanted to or not. And that’s how he’d ended up glaring at the TV from his position on the sofa, completely surrounded by the three idiots’ body heat.

It was moments like these that made him doubt Laura’s judgement in turning them. And Cora, the traitor, was no better, sprawled as she was over the ottoman like it wasn’t weird that two of her brother’s friends were plastered to his sides, and the other was sitting on his feet.

He gritted his teeth.  
“Easy there,” Erica tutted, slapping Derek’s knee with her palm.

He shoved her hand aside and stood up abruptly, unseating Isaac with the movement and making Boyd hum disapprovingly. Cora sat up, her eyebrows furrowing automatically.  
“Where are you going?”  
“BH Memorial,” Derek decided on the spot.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea–” Boyd started, but Derek walked to the door.

He could hear shifting behind him as he put his shoes on, and then Isaac was at his side.  
“I’m coming with you.”  
“You don’t have to.”

Isaac scowled.  
“I know,” he huffed, stepping into his own shoes, “but you’re not the only one who saw him drown.”

Derek grimaced: Isaac was right, he was being insensitive. Deciding there was nothing else to say, Derek took his jacket and exited the loft quietly. Isaac locked the door after himself and soon they were on their way out.

\---

And then they got there and Derek didn’t want to go in–

_Because Derek did sense it this time._

It was evident even from outside the hospital, and it made him hesitate for a bit. And then they moved inside and it was worse.

_So. Much. Worse._

The stench of illness and death was everywhere, which was to be expected, but the smell of _pack_ was unmistakable. And it wasn’t their pack, which meant–

Forgetting what he was there for in the first place, Derek found himself following the scent down the halls of the first floor, through the waiting room and past the nurse’s station, all the way to the elevator. He could sense that they’d gotten on it, but–

Derek frowned. How was he supposed to know where they’d gotten off?  
“Third floor,” Isaac said.

Derek stared at him. Isaac shrugged and pointed behind himself.  
“That’s where the sign said they keep their patients.”

Why would–

 _Oh, right._ They had come to see Stiles, not to find a member of some random pack. Derek nodded and pressed the ‘up’ call button of the elevator. It was there in a minute or so, and they got in.

The smell of the other pack in the enclosed space was almost overpowering.

And familiar.  
“We should have brought a balloon,” Isaac said in the tense silence, apparently sensing but misjudging the reason for Derek’s unease.

Derek appreciated it all the same.  
“Or flowers,” he quipped, pressing ‘3’.

Next to him, Isaac smiled.

The ride was short but, for Derek, it seemed to take _years_. Once the doors opened, he took off, taking as deep a breath as he could–

And scenting the other pack all over again. _What the fuck?  
_“Derek?”

Isaac was a couple of steps ahead of him, his head tilted towards the rooms. Not knowing what to say in case the other werewolf was listening, Derek shook his head.

Isaac pursed his lips, apparently unimpressed, but they didn’t have much time before their scent reached the other pack’s member, so Derek lurched forward, gripping Isaac’s forearm.  
“Don’t you sense it?” He whispered.  
“ _What?_ ” Isaac was alarmed now, his heart hammering loudly in Derek’s ears. “Sense what?”  
“The pack.”

Isaac nodded his head nervously.  
“Of course I do,” he said placatingly.

It made Derek want to growl.  
“Not _us_.” Derek muttered angrily. “Someone else.”

Derek swallowed and looked around.  
“Someone from another pack,” he clarified.

In an instant, Isaac went from trying to free himself without attracting attention to either of them, to scenting the air. It took a moment, but then–  
“Yeah,” Isaac breathed. And, after a beat, “what should we do?”

Derek bit his lip: if there was another pack in Beacon Hills –and there was, because McCall was part of it– they would consider Derek and the others as intruding on their newly-acquired territory. After all, without an Alpha, the Hale pack’s claim to his family’s land was nonexistent, so it was only a matter of time before someone came along and took it. Visiting Stiles _was not_ worth a war, especially one they, as Betas, would not win.

Then again, they were at a hospital. Maybe that was considered neutral ground?

Hoping against hope that he wasn’t making a mistake, he let go of Isaac and stepped back.  
“Let’s go see Stiles.” Seeing Isaac’s scared look, Derek gave him a small smile. “It’ll be fine.”

At least, he hoped it would be.

That didn’t mean that it’d be easy – each step increased his agitation, and, at some point, he stopped being able to differentiate Isaac’s racing heart from his.

Probably because the scent wasn’t ebbing away, but intensifying.

And then they were finally at Stiles’ door.  
“It smells worse,” Isaac murmured.

Derek should’ve agreed, but that wouldn’t help calm either of them, so he ignored Isaac and placed his hand on the door handle. He could hear steady beeping inside, and three heartbeats, and–

He jumped when Isaac pulled at his arm.  
“They’re inside,” the teen mouthed.

Derek had guessed as much, and he rolled his eyes.  
“Are we still going in?”

Isaac looked like he desperately wanted the answer to his question to be ‘no’. However, Derek had made up his mind, and they had probably already been sensed by the other werewolf. Might as well get their introductions over with.

So he turned back to the room and, in one swift movement, opened the door.

Stiles, pale, skinny, sickly Stiles, was on the bed, fast asleep. Alert and frowning at the intruders, however, were the Sheriff, who was sitting on the armchair at the far side the room, and Scott, sitting cross-legged at the Sheriff’s feet.  
“Isaac?” Scott asked, ignoring Derek completely.

Glancing at Isaac, Derek understood why he was disregarded: Isaac looked thunderstruck.

And, looking back into the room, the reason for Isaac’s surprise was obvious–

_Scott wasn’t the werewolf they had scented._

And if Stiles was human –which Derek did not doubt in the least–, who was the other werewolf then?

Derek’s breath got caught in his throat–

Was Sheriff Stilinski–


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t mean to – it just happened so fast that his instincts took over. One second, they were staring into the room, and the next–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of "–" again and a bit of weird sentence structure. Sorry!  
> Enjoy!

He didn’t mean to – it just happened so fast that his instincts took over. One second, they were staring into the room, and the next–

Derek took a shaky breath.

He knew in an instant that he hadn’t been scenting Scott, but the moment was long enough, long enough for the Sheriff to stand up and stomp over, his glassy eyes on Isaac, his face red, his breaths shallow, his teeth clenched–

And Isaac–

Isaac stood rooted to the spot, _fucking frozen_ , visibly terrified–

And the Sheriff was in front of the teen and, instead of moving out of the way, instead of pushing the man back or maybe even stepping to the side or out or–

Or _somewhere_ –

Somewhere, anywhere but where he stood, Isaac _didn’t. fucking. move._

And the Sheriff extended his arm like it was a reflex, and fisted the front of Isaac’s blue v-neck, right under his stupid scarf, clearly intent on pulling him closer–

And Derek wasn’t going to wait to know what for.

At least, his wolf wasn’t.

Because, without notice, without thinking, without _anything_ , his hand closed itself around the Sheriff’s throat, his claws digging into the man’s skin.

FUCK.

 _Derek had shifted_ – he’d shifted standing under the doorway, basically out in the hallway for what it was worth.

And McCall had also shifted, and Isaac–

Isaac was so paralyzed with fear that it seemed like he couldn’t even breathe.

And then a woman pressed a needle deep into his side.  
“ _Let him go_.”

His wolf was saying ‘no’, but he couldn’t really tell if the syringe still had its safety cover on or not, and he didn’t want to find out by having her inject him with something, so he nodded.

His hand wasn’t cooperating, though. He could feel the Sheriff’s Adam’s apple bob under his hand, and he could feel her pushing the needle in deeper still–

It definitely had the cap on, because it would’ve punctured his skin otherwise.

Derek didn’t want to figure out what it would take for her to actually uncap it, so he took another breath and slowly unclenched his hand, making sure that she saw his every move, before withdrawing it. Little rivulets of blood ran down the man’s throat.

Derek stared–

And the man didn’t heal. He was not a werewolf.

But Derek had another problem to deal with, as a pair of hands shoved Isaac and him forward, making them step properly into the room, before closing the door. He turned and stared at the woman’s angry, tanned face. She was furious.

At least there was no trace of the syringe that she’d held moments earlier (he’d take his wins where he could get them).  
“Are you _insane_?”

Not really, but there was no way he could defend his actions. After all, how could he explain to a normal human the urge to save his packmate? The need to protect Isaac from pain?  
“I startled him.”

The Sheriff’s voice was rough, but placating, and Derek couldn’t tell who was more surprised, because even the man himself seemed a bit shocked by his words.

And then the woman was staring daggers at Sheriff Stilinski instead of him, and the Sheriff was moving his hands away from where they’d been dabbing a handkerchief across his throat to let them fall at his sides.   
“You did _what_?”  
“Melissa–” She clenched her fists tighter and he grimaced. “I came up to the kid,” he signaled in Isaac’s general direction, “a bit quickly. They’re werewolves.”

He shrugged as if that explained everything. It didn’t. For example, how did he even know about–  
“Scott is one, too, and he’s never tried to _rip your throat out_.”

Ah, yes, time to explain, because she was looking like she’d rip _Derek’s_ throat out if he didn’t say something soon.  
“I was startled.”

The Sheriff snorted, but her nostrils were flaring and, right now, she was the bigger threat. Maybe he should–  
“D’rek?”

His eyes snapped to Stiles’, who looked groggy and weak but met his gaze.  
“Was goinon?”

Derek didn’t even know where to start.

But he shouldn’t have worried: Stiles let his head fall heavily back on the pillow and, a couple of breaths later, he was out cold.

Melissa moved closer, checking him over, and Derek couldn’t help but stare: he looked _so pale_. The dark circles under his eyes accentuated the pasty white color of the rest of his face, and his lips were chapped. He wondered whether Stiles still had the red outline of the Nemeton’s roots on his chest.  
“What’s wrong with him?” McCall asked.

Melissa turned to him with a tight smile.  
“Apparently, he’s just tired.” At McCall’s concerned look, her smile turned more genuine. “He’s been through a lot today, don’t you think?”

Quite.  
“Can I hug you?”

Derek turned to the Sheriff, wide-eyed. Thankfully, the man seemed to be addressing Isaac–

But Isaac still looked scared.  
“You saved my son’s life,” the Sheriff explained. “Scott told me you pulled him out of the water, and your dad did CPR.”

Isaac nodded slowly.  
“I don’t know how to express–” The Sheriff cleared his throat, his voice gravelly and his eyes glassy again. “Can I?”

Without a word, Isaac stepped into the man’s open arms.

Melissa tactfully focused on Stiles’ chart and McCall kept looking at his best friend. Derek took the moment to scent the air again. There was something familiar about Scott’s pack – maybe he’d been sensing but not really processing the smell?

Or maybe he’d run across it elsewhere?

He knew McCall was the ‘candid’ type of idiot who’d truthfully answer whatever he asked, but it seemed kind of weird to question him straightforwardly about his packmates when he hadn’t even known Scott was a werewolf until today. And, in any case, Derek was only interested in knowing the identity of his Alpha –he _needed to know_ who’d take over the land his family had protected– but most Alphas wouldn’t take kindly to a wolf from another pack snooping around.

If he could just figure it out without asking McCall…  
“So you’re also a werewolf?” The Sheriff asked, as he stepped away from Isaac.

Isaac nodded, showing that McCall wasn’t the only ‘candid’ idiot present.  
“You?”

The Sheriff smiled crookedly and shook his head.  
“Nope, and neither is Stiles.”  
“Or my mom,” McCall added.

Like he’d needed to: if his mom had been a werewolf, she would’ve flashed her eyes earlier.  
“Who else is in your group?” The man continued.

Melissa stopped fiddling with Stiles’ chart and looked at both of them. Derek frowned. They were humans. Why would they want to know?

Isaac seemed to have misgivings about that, too, as he turned to Derek instead of answering.  
“You mean, in our pack?”

The Sheriff nodded, like it was the most innocent question in the world.  
“I can leave if you want,” McCall offered. That seemed to discomfit the man.  
“Sorry, I didn’t know – I didn’t mean to–” The Sheriff started, and he looked so apologetic that Derek would bet that he’d only asked out of curiosity and meant no harm. Telling him knowing this didn’t seem that bad.  
“We’re five, with my sister Cora, and our friends Erica and Boyd.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded sheepishly, and then his eyebrows furrowed.  
“Wait, and you’re all werewolves?”

It was Derek’s and Isaac’s turn to frown.  
“What do you mean?”

The Sheriff bumped his shoulder with McCall’s before replying.  
“Someone here has a motley crew of supernatural friends.”

McCall blushed and dipped his head. Interesting.  
“We’re not that weird.”  
“You’re not weird, honey,” his mom assured him with a grin. “You’re _different_.”

McCall rolled his eyes good-naturedly, before looking back at Isaac.  
“We’ve got a werewolf,” he pointed at himself, “a werecoyote, a Kitsune, a banshee, and three humans.”

Huh, so Derek had guessed correctly at what they all were. The only weird thing was–  
“Shouldn’t there be another werewolf in your ‘group’?”

Well, he hadn’t dared ask but today was just his day for making others speak for him, apparently. Scott tilted his head to the side.  
“What do you mean?”

Oh, there was no polite way to put it.  
“Well, you’re just a Beta.” Thankfully, Isaac wasn’t really polite. “Who’s your Alpha?”

McCall pursed his lips.  
“Someone who isn’t into having a pack.”

 _What?_ That didn’t make sense. Alphas drew their strength from their packmates, and it also worked the other way around. It wasn’t a difficult concept.  
“Cool,” Isaac replied. “We’re also Alpha-less.”

Derek wished Isaac hadn’t said that – it was a weak point, and it put them at a disadvantage because McCall did have an Alpha. It was just a weird Alpha who didn’t like to hang out with their pack.  
“Really?” McCall seemed doubtful. “I thought we had the same one.”

Isaac crossed his arms.  
“That’s kind of a dick thing to say, actually.”

The adults narrowed their eyes at the language. McCall seemed nonplussed.  
“What? Why?”

Derek glared.  
“Because my sister’s dead.”

For a second, McCall was horrified, and then he was speaking–

But Derek wasn’t listening, because it’d finally clicked: his brain had identified the scent and it didn’t matter if he heard what McCall said or not because he knew who it was, he knew that smell, it’d been the same for years–

But there was no way, _there was no way_ –

And McCall was still explaining, and Derek was straining to catch his words, just to make sure, just to confirm–

 _Because_ _there was no way_ –

But there was and it’d made sense that McCall had been confused, that McCall had thought that they had the same–

_No, there was no way–_

But there was, oh, God, there was, _there was_ –

_There was if–_

_If somehow–_

_Oh, God–_

_If, somehow, his comatose uncle had killed Laura Hale._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He heard voices –someone was talking– but none of it made sense. All Derek could tell was that the room smelled like his uncle and that McCall had said–
> 
> _No, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. There was no way–_
> 
> There was no way that it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less "-" in this one! And again some backstory. I changed the rating to 'M' because it's a bit descriptive, but also because I think future chapters are going to be dark. Enjoy!

He heard voices –someone was talking– but none of it made sense. All Derek could tell was that the room smelled like his uncle and that McCall had said–

_No, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. There was no way–_

There was no way that it was true. His senses were making things up, he knew. And he knew that because he’d last seen his uncle’s burnt body and face shortly before Laura’s death. There was no way that that amount of damage had been undone in 48 hours, no matter how much werewolf healing could achieve on the night of a full moon.

Not after two years of not having those powers work.

And Life had shown Derek that the supernatural existed, but that there where no miracles.

So it just wasn’t possible. _It wasn’t true._ And McCall had apparently not learned anything from when he’d lied so long ago.

But McCall’s heart, while beating fast, hadn’t faltered, and Isaac was demanding that he repeat himself.   
“Are you sure? Are you _absolutely sure_ that your Alpha is Peter Hale?”

And McCall complied and answered, and his heart didn’t flutter, _didn’t even blip.  
_“Yes.”

_And the scent–_

No.

He had to go, he had to see, he had to _be_ in his uncle’s room at Beacons Crossing Home, because this was surely a mistake. Something was wrong, but it wasn’t this. He knew it wasn’t this. There was no way that his uncle would have killed her. Not with how he’d cared for them all. _He’d saved Cora from the fire_ , for crying out loud, before going back to the cellar to try and get everyone else out–

Before Kate had closed the circle of mountain ash around the place, and they’d all suffocated to death–

But him.

And they’d all been unconscious as they burned, _but him_.

And, as the man writhed in pain and howled his heart out, alerting a patrol car passing by the Preserve, Derek was getting in a fight at school with McCall. McCall, who’d lied to protect his friend, saying that Cora’d started the fight by threatening to cut Jackson’s dick off, which resulted in her getting suspended for a week.

And, while there was no way for anyone to know that that was the week that Kate would burn the Hale house down with the Hales in it, Derek had never forgiven him. And now the guy was upending his life again, trying to tear his family apart once more.

Didn’t McCall understand that Derek’s mom had died angry at Cora for his shit? What was the point of making Derek hate a broken relative now, when Laura’s murder had obviously been carried out by hunters that were exacting revenge?

Because, after months of proceedings, Laura had finally gotten Kate and her team convicted of arson–

And, less than a week later, Cora had found their sister dead.

And his uncle would have had no reason to kill Laura, not after she’d avenged their family’s death in such a clear-cut, irrefutable, _human-appropriate_ way. And she’d even said at the time that their uncle had given her a small smile, but it’d been gone before Derek and Cora had turned from gazing around the room to look at him.

His uncle’s face had been as impassive as always then, and Derek turned away, because those deadened eyes distressed him.

He’d concentrated instead on the dust collected on the wheels of the wheelchair, and on how it faced the windows so that his uncle could look outside even though it was dark, and on how Nurse Jennifer let them stay a bit after curfew that night.

Two days later he was back in the Principal’s office for calling McCall a little shit after the kid had stepped in to defend Allison from his twin. Admittedly, Cora shouldn’t have picked a fight anyway, but he understood her anger at having Allison loudly defend her aunt from their classmates. They’d all been sent home.

He should have known that McCall getting them suspended for a day would be as disastrous as before.

Cora had jumped out of the Camaro without a word, stomping to the house in anger, probably on her way to slam every door in the recently rebuilt house. He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. After all, he couldn’t really lecture her when he’d been disciplined himself – he might as well let Laura do it.

Or not, he didn’t really care: Laura’d never gotten angry at her after the fire.

And Cora did slam the door and he heard her yelling for their sister as he walked up the front steps. He sighed and took his shoes off at the entrance–

_And he heard Cora scream._

He ran barefoot out to the backyard. Laura’s, beautiful, expressive, _open eyes_ were staring at the sky, not really looking hurt, other than the top of her body, which was undressed–

And the other half of it, which was missing.

And Cora didn’t know what to do, coming apart at the seams, and he could barely speak around the knot in his throat when he called 9-1-1 to report that his sister had been killed.

And there was no way that it had been his uncle. _It had to be a mistake._

But McCall didn’t seem to be lying, _and the scent was sickening–_

And he didn’t know what to think, and he was falling, slowly, slowly, he was drowning, and he had to get out, _he had to leave_ , he–

He’d been enveloped in a hug.

Melissa was hugging him and shushing him, talking to him in a soft voice–

And he was sobbing, he was shaking, he was–  
“I finished my shift,” she was saying. “Let me call–”  
“No,” he heard himself reply, his voice thick, “I need to go. I need to _see him_.”  
“You can’t even drive at the moment.”  
“Isaac will take me.”  
“I don’t have a license.”  
“You have a permit.”  
“You’re not 25.”

Derek groaned and Melissa let him slide to the floor, resting against the bed with his head in his hands. She patted his shoulder and stepped out.

The only sounds in the room came from him.

And then he heard footsteps, as if someone was walking to stand before him, cloth rustling. A hand was on his knee.  
“I’m sorry.”

Derek nodded. McCall let go.  
“I really thought you knew. I didn’t–”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”

McCall cleared his throat.  
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s – let’s just wait until my mom comes back.”

Derek nodded again and felt him move away. And then there was more rustling of fabric and he jumped a bit as he felt something weakly tap the top of his head.  
“D’rek? Why’re you d’nere?”

Derek looked up at Stiles’ weary face.  
“Got tired.”

Stiles gave him a small nod.  
“Wanna c’mere?” He asked, moving his hand to the bed.

Derek stared: hadn’t the kid been afraid of him for the last couple of weeks?  
“I – I’m fine down here, thanks.”

Stiles sighed.  
“Can see you–” He took a deep breath. “Crying.”

Derek shook his head, running his hands down his wet cheeks and rubbing his eyes dry. When he looked back at Stiles, Stiles was asleep.  
“He keeps doing that.” The Sheriff mused.

Derek hummed. Now that he was closer, he could see the top of the red lines still visible around his neck, though they looked much lighter than before. The bags under his eyes, however, had darkened.

Not as much as Melissa’s, he thought when she walked back in.

She came up to him and crouched, settling her hands on his. He clenched his fists.  
“I called the home,” she started, and then seemed lost for words. He frowned.  
“What did they say?” Isaac asked, reeking of nervousness.  
“He was discharged three months ago.”

Derek let his head fall forward, no longer feeling like crying, but feeling like breaking, his fangs and claws coming out as he fought to remain in control.  
“Derek. Derek, come on, don’t do this.” The Sheriff said, moving towards him and placing his hands on Derek’s shoulders, as if to hold him down if he shifted. Like he’d be able to keep him down if Derek didn’t want him to. “What good will it do?”

Derek didn’t know and didn’t care. _Her death was his uncle’s fault_ –

His claws were digging into his palms, making them bleed, and Melissa tried to open his hands. The Sheriff shook him.  
“Come on, son. Just take a deep breath–”

But Derek was shoving him off, fully in werewolf form, standing up in one swift motion. He looked around him, red in his eyes, as everyone took a step back.  
“Derek, please–” Isaac begged.

But Derek didn’t know what Isaac was begging for.

He knew what he wanted to do though.  
“I’m gonna kill him,” he roared.

And he jumped out of the sealed window, broken glass falling all around him as he landed on the soft grass.

And he ran.


End file.
